


I'll come back to you

by stilinskitrash



Series: gendrya one shots [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Canon Compliant, Confessions, F/M, Family Dynamics, Light Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Reunions, all the stark's are happy and healthy and alive, arya was on a gap year aka essos travels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: Really, Arya would have been angry if she wasn’t realising how damn much she’d missed him. Having him there, to taunt her playfully and banter with her, was one of those things she didn’t realise she missed until it was gone. She didn’t try to hide the smile that slipped onto her lips, but she did turn away from him.Modern AU re-imagining of 8x01 and 8x02





	I'll come back to you

**Author's Note:**

> modern reimagining of the gendrya reunion and forgesex? say no more! rated M bc it ends where it ended in the show but no actual sex delved into  
> mistakes are mine cause im lazy

The last person Arya had expected to see when she came home from her gap year was her childhood crush, casually eating toast in her own kitchen. Okay, she had to give him a little more credit; he _was_ one of her brother Jon’s close friends. But he was also a stupidly attractive, stubborn bastard, and Arya had spent a lot of her time abroad trying to forget about his entire existence. (And failed.)

She’d only just gotten the reunion hugs with her mother and father out of the way when she heard his voice coming from the kitchen. Shrugging her heaving backpack off her shoulders, Arya frowned in confusion.

“Oh, Arya, you look so healthy! I always told you a tan would do you the world of good,” her mother fussed, running her fingers through Arya’s hair, which had grown out again to reach her shoulders.

Her father, Ned, smiled at her gently, with creases in the corners of his eyes and deep laughter lines. Catelyn rambled on about how she had changed and mentioned something about Arya having grown taller--she hadn’t--but Arya had tuned out.

“Who else is home?” she asked, interrupting her overly doting mother.

Catelyn rolled her eyes, “just Jon, and Rickon’s about _somewhere_. Probably halfway up a tree. Sansa’s at a study group, Robb’s at work and Bran’s at therapy. They’ve all promised to be here for tea, though.” her mother beamed brightly, proud and loving of her children. “I’m making one of your favourites. Oh, Arya, we’ve missed you so much.”

After another tight embrace from her mother and a pat on the back from her father, Arya made her own way into the kitchen.

At the dinner table sat Jon, his hair now the same length as her own, and with dark hair on his jaw. He was holding a bottle of beer to his mouth when Arya came in and promptly spat half of it across the table at the sight of her.

“Jon!” Catelyn scolded, but her half brother wasted no time in sweeping Arya off her feet.

In Jon’s arms, much more muscly than she remembered, Arya looked over to the other end of the table. Gendry Waters, just as handsome as he was a year ago, was staring at Arya like she’d risen from the grave.

“Fucking hell, Arya, could’ve warned me.” Jon laughed into her shoulder before putting her back on the ground.

“Couldn’t have,” she shrugged, “I don’t have a phone.”

Jon’s brow creased, but before he could say another word Arya’s attention had turned back to Gendry.

“Hi,” she nodded curtly, unsure of how to talk to him. She’d been alone, toiling with her emotions towards him, for a solid year. When Arya had left home, she was pretty sure her brother’s friend knew she was secretly infatuated with him. Not that Gendry helped her squash her feelings, considering all the play fighting and bantering that often occurred between them. But whilst on the road abroad, she’d worked hard to move on with her life, unsure if he’d even still be there when she got back. Gendry had told her of his dreams to open his own Blacksmith’s shop, and she hadn’t expected him to hang around in York to do so.

“Hi,” he replied, dumbfounded as he rose from his chair.

Catelyn began making a cup of tea, and her father wandered off, probably to read a book somewhere. She promised to tell them of her travels at tea later. Jon offered her a beer, and she took a seat in between Jon and Gendry at the table. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, and a warm, orange summer glow cast long shadows across the kitchen.

After a moment, Arya realised she’d been staring at Gendry, and that no one had spoken a word. Jon watched her curiously.

Clearing her throat and throwing up a nonchalant demeanor, Arya tried to break the ice. “You look… stronger.” She was mainly talking about Gendry, who had always been stocky, so she quickly added; “both of you, both of you look stronger.”

“So do you.” as Gendry spoke, he seemed to cringe at his own words. It was endearingly awkward, really. “I mean, you look good.”

Jon coughed awkwardly and Arya kicked him under the table.

“Thanks, so do you.” she shrugged.

“Jesus Christ,” Jon muttered, and the two of them stared daggers at him. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll let you get back to getting _reacquainted_.”

Arya rose from the table abruptly, “I have stuff to unpack, actually.” It was a dumb, obvious excuse, but her brother was making it even harder for her to talk to Gendry and she needed a moment to recollect her thoughts. The two guys watched her go dumbfoundedly, and Catelyn called after her to be back downstairs for tea at seven.

Her room was exactly the same. In fact, she wasn’t sure it had been touched at all. Everything was dusty. All her old posters were still up, her bedding made and tidy. The only evidence that maybe someone _had_ been in was that her collection of cacti and succulents were still alive. After being abroad for so many months and staying in so many different beds in so many different hostels, it didn’t immediately feel like home. She was still trying to work out what ‘home’ was. Or at least, what it was to her.

Being back in York, in her childhood home, wasn’t bad though. It was just a comfort, a safe space for her to crawl back to. It wasn’t a place she’d built for herself.

She holed herself up there for an hour or two, unpacking her clothes from travelling, and all the trinkets she’d collected along the way. Arya had bought something for all her siblings. Robb had been the hardest to buy for, and she’d eventually settled on a metal Zippo style lighter with a wolf on. For Jon, Arya had a leatherbound notebook. She’d bought a pretty porcelain flower off a market stall for Sansa, hand painted a bright yellow. For Bran, a collection of postcards from every city she visited. Surely against her mother’s wishes, she’d bought Rickon a penknife, with his name engraved. She’d probably have to wait a year or two to give it to him.

Beyond Arya’s best guesses, Catelyn had Gendry stay for tea, probably because he was already there and her mother was _never_ rude to guests. But, tea _was_ nice. Her siblings stayed civil, or at least pretended to be so. Sansa complimented Arya’s tan as her mother had, and even mentioned having some old clothes she’d thought Arya might like that she’d saved to give her when she returned. Rickon was running at a million miles an hour, asking Arya about the smallest of details as Bran listened intently. Of course, Robb, Jon and her father wanted to know more about her escapades and near escapes more than the beautiful temples, castles and places she’d visited. Catelyn smiled all the way through tea, happy to have her family reunited. Gendry was silent.

Once the food and talking was over, Arya offered to wash up.

They’d gone over and over Arya’s gap year long enough for the sun to have set. She looked out into the back garden as she cleaned the dishes, which went far back enough to back onto the nearby woods. Fairy lights hung in the trees, and the moon and stars twinkled above it all. Their house was far out enough towards the countryside to not be too plagued by light pollution, making star gazing easier.

“Not a bad place to grow up, if it wasn’t so cold.”

He made Arya jump, but her reflexes were quick enough for her to hide it and recover. Gendry’s hands were shoved in his pockets, and he leant against the kitchen cupboards beside her at the sink. She thought about how his hair had changed; it was shorter, cut close to his head. There was a small scar on his jawline, visible despite his growing stubble.

Gendry wasn’t from York, like the Stark’s. He was from Essex, and had moved up north when his mother had died, looking for work that he couldn’t find down south. The weather couldn’t have been that much warmer in the south, but she couldn’t deny that the north could get nippy, even in summer. But she was used to it, even after spending so much time in countries where the temperature hardly got below 20°.

Arya continued to clean the plates, “put a jumper on then.”

He scoffed softly. “Is that a command, lady stark?”

A sudden wave of emotion and memories struck her down, and she almost let the plate in her hand smash onto the floor.

Through gritted teeth, she said; “don’t call me that.” she’d had enough of that shit from him before she’d gone away.

She could sense how much fun he was having with it already. “As u wish, m’lady.”

Really, Arya would have been angry if she wasn’t realising how damn much she’d missed him. Having him there, to taunt her playfully and banter with her, was one of those things she didn’t realise she missed until it was gone. She didn’t try to hide the smile that slipped onto her lips, but she did turn away from him.

“Still can’t believe you jetted off abroad so suddenly,” he remarked. “I always knew you were just another rich girl.”

A comment like that from anyone else, and she would have bitten their head off.

Arya whipped around to him and cocked her head. She kissed her teeth, “you don’t know any other rich girls.”

Gendry snorted, raising his brows as he couldn’t disagree.

“The last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to come with you. Or at least, you asked me to consider it. Didn’t give me much time to do so, though, really.”

Blush seeped into her cheeks. She’d forgotten about that, her last ditch attempt to confess in some way how she’d felt about him. He’d basically declined and Arya had felt embarrassed, and stupid for bothering to ask. Gendry had a job and a flat to pay for, Arya was admittedly flying off on her privilege. She had the good fortune of being able to take a year out and still be able to support herself financially whilst there and after; Gendry didn’t have such luck.

A small silence washed over them as Arya finished washing up and emptied the bubbles in the basin. Gendry moved to her other side and picked up a dish towel.

“I would have, if I could.” he noted absently, beginning to dry the plates.

Arya chewed her lip. “I don’t know, solo travelling was pretty good. Maybe I would have changed my mind.”

He quirked a brow at her, “would you?”

Her stony expression faltered, and the longer she looked at him the harder it was to imagine looking away. A year of trying to move on from him had tragically failed. The moment he was back in her life, in her house, by her side, she couldn’t get him off her mind.

She rolled her shoulders and gave him a half smile. “Might’ve.”

A phone on the kitchen table began to vibrate, it’s screen lit up. Gendry reached for it and switched it off on whoever was trying to reach him. Arya frowned, and Gendry avoided her eyes.

“Girlfriend?” she asked, trying to be void of emotion. _God, please don’t be,_  she wished selfishly.

His eyes went wide and the mug he had gone back to drying slipped in his hand, “oh, god, no. No girlfriend. No girlfriend.”

“Have you been with lots of girls?”

The words fell off her tongue before she could even consider the ramifications. It was something she’d thought about before. She’d thought about it when she watched Jon get ready for prom, and Gendry had arrived with his date and Jon’s date and they’d gone to prom together. She’d thought about it when she’d watched Jon’s Instagram stories and seen Gendry sat beside some pretty redhead or talking to a girl at a party. She’d thought about it often and bitterly.

Gendry stammered. He stammered hard; _really_ struggled for the words to say.

Arya’s conscience was telling her to _shut the fuck up_ , but her mouth was working to quickly. “You don’t remember?”

He grinded his jaw before placing the towel and the cup on the kitchen counter. “Yes,” he admitted awkwardly, “I was.”

It also wasn’t as if it were something she’d never teased him about before. Usually, her jealousy came off as joking around, intentionally trying to make him squirm. She’d ask him about a girl she’d seen him with at school and ask him if he’d want to fuck her. If not, who would he fuck? They were Gendry’s least favourite conversations.

“One? Two? Twenty?” she questioned, cocking her head.

He guffawed and raised his hands defensively, “I didn’t keep count, Arya.”

She raised an eyebrow high. “Yes, you did.” What guy didn't?

His body language was shifting rapidly. That was something Arya had gotten good at noticing whilst away, the way in which a person’s movements reflected their emotions. It was something she’d had to adapt to due to language barriers, making verbal communication incredibly difficult. Gendry wrung his hands together, and he stopped avoiding her gaze.

“Three.”

Arya’s eyes slid down the curves of his shoulders, taking in the visible outline of his muscles under his t-shirt. Her heart felt like it was pounding in her fest and her head, heat rising throughout her body and through her fingertips.

Three women wasn’t many, not when you were as attractive as Gendry. Hell, some of her friends at school had expressed how fit they thought he was. Even Sansa had mentioned it once or twice, which had always made Arya unnecessarily angry.

“I haven’t been with anyone,” she muttered, maybe more to herself than to Gendry. On her travels, she’d been granted with plenty of opportunity to do so. She hadn’t really been sure why she’d never taken anyone up on the offer; she’d never been one to care about virginity. It had just never felt right.

“Oh,” Gendry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ and hung open, “so, you’re a--”

“Virginity is a dumb, patriarchal construct.” she brushed aside, cringing.

Gendry nodded slowly, “I-- it’s not like I care. It doesn’t matter to me how many people you’ve slep with, Arya, or how little. Does it… does it matter it you?”

“What? How many people I’ve slept with?”

“No, how many I have.”

Arya had chewed the inside of her cheek until it started to bleed out of anxious habit. She was good at controlling her surface level emotions--at putting up a front--but she internalised her feelings almost violently, letting them consume and gnaw away at her.

He was close enough to Arya that she worried he may have felt the heat radiating off her.

She shook her head gently, and honestly replied; “no.”

Arya was only two steps away from Gendry, it seemed, as she crossed the space between them in no time.

“Arya,” the softness of his voice made her chest swell, his mouth hardly moving as her name slipped out from between his lips. “I--”

Up on her tiptoes, Arya pressed her lips against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck instinctively, wanting to bring him closer and closer and closer to her. He kissed back, but she could feel his hesitancy. She slanted her mouth over his harder, one hand running through his buzzed hair and holding him close.

His hands, previously limp at his sides, gripped Arya’s waist tightly. He smelled exactly like she could have imagined, of oil and smoke and pine, and he tasted of beer. Their chests bumped against each other, and Arya’s skin prickled at the thought of him with less clothing on.

She felt him smile into the kiss, both of them chuckling out of disbelief at each other and filled with want and need.

“We should probably go to my room, yeah?” she whispered, placing kisses on his jawline.

Gendry nodded avidly, and let himself be pulled through the house, all the way up the stairs, and into her childhood bedroom.

“This is weird,” he laughed quietly, “it looks exactly the same.”

Arya shut him up by pushing him down onto her bed, and thanked any gods in the sky that her mother had let her have a double and not a twin bed. She took a moment to take in the sight before her; Gendry, lay down and dumbstruck, on _her_ bed. He’d lost his t-shirt somewhere along the way to her room, and Arya’s mouth practically watered at his tanned, toned chest. But it was his face that got her.

He’d been rendered speechless. His eyes looked up at her with a type of adoration she’d always dreamed he might have--maybe he’d always had it. She watched him watch her and just wanted to devour him.

Taking her own time, and doing it on her own terms, Arya stripped off out of her blouse and jeans. She’d hardly ever worn a bra abroad due to feeling uncomfortable in the heat, so there was no barrier between her, her breasts and Gendry, for her to unveil. As his eyes roamed the acres of bare skin she’d laid out for him, he examined her with a type of loving curiosity she hadn’t expected. He wasn’t hungry; she didn’t feel like a piece of meat. His eyes lingered on the scars on her ribs, still deep and visible, and his eyes briefly flickered with concern. He visually traced the curves of her body, the story of her life as told by the marks that had been left behind on her skin. Small scars from play fights with her brothers, a scar on her shoulder blade from Sansa burning her with hair straighteners, a scar on her abdomen from being stabbed by a mugger somewhere in Barcelona.

Arya didn’t feel judged; she felt as if he were learning her all over again, from a new perspective. She climbed on top of him, straddling his bare waist and looping her arms around his neck. She imagined being able to kiss him forever, as she had as a child. But the kisses in her dreams back then had been a little different, void of the heat she felt as an adult, naked and on top of him.

They were both strangely quiet, given how much they would banter on the regular. A year apart had matured them. Though, Arya didn’t think she’d ever tire from winding him up. She drank him in again and again, and imagined that if she were to drown, this would be the best way to do so.  


**Author's Note:**

> hope u all enjoyed lemme know ur thoughts mwah<3 i live for modern AUs  
> follow my writing twitter [cvbeswaters](https://twitter.com/cvbeswaters) or on tumblr at [stacygwehn](https://stacygwehn.tumblr.com)


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